


Torture and Tiaras

by Jambammer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jambammer/pseuds/Jambammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam initially suggested going undercover at a children's beauty pageant to figure out why parents are dying in freak accidents, he didn't count on Dean becoming an obsessive "pageant mom."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torture and Tiaras

**Author's Note:**

> For the hell of it, I gave Dean kids. There's no romance, their mother's not in this. I just wanted to write him with a bit of happiness and with something he wants - a family. It's just not quite how he wanted it.

After a bit of preparation and research, they were here, and Dean had never felt more like a fish out of water. Sam hadn’t either, and he’d spent the majority of his life feeling out of place. This wasn’t just out of place; this was awkward and uncomfortable in extreme levels. 

Dean looked around, trying to keep himself looking cool and collected; at least some of the women were hot. He could ignore the obscene amount of bratty children running around and screeching. He could try to, anyways. Then again, it was hard to look cool with a sleeping three year old boy held against his chest.

What he _couldn't_  ignore was the tension in the air, though maybe it was just him who had noticed it as no one else - no one but Sam - seemed bothered.

“The registration desk’s over there,” Sam cut through his thoughts and pointed to a busy area on the other side of the room.

Dean nodded and swallowed. “Great. I’ll wait here.”

The younger gave his brother a sharp look. “She’s _your_ daughter, Dean!”

“And this was _your_ stupid idea!” He hissed back. He hadn't wanted to bring them; this wasn't the life he'd wanted for his kids, and he'd worked to bring them out of it. They had a home in Lawrence, guarded with everything he even _thought_  could be useful. “What was wrong with coming as feds, huh?”

“This doesn’t raise as much suspicion!”

“Still your idea.”

Sam huffed and took his niece’s hand, leading her over to the desk. He made sure his best smile was in place before they got there. “Hi,” he said as sweetly as possible to the woman looking up at him expectantly. “Uhm, we called earlier and were told we could still register?”

"Of course!" The cheery looking blonde woman slid a paper across the desk to him. She was pretty; her smile was inviting, and there was something about her eyes that caught his attention. “Just fill this out for me, please. You’re her father?”

“No, no, I’m just her Uncle,” Sam corrected.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled sympathetically at him. “Honey, we don’t discriminate here. We let children from any family compete.”

“I just…”

“Yeah, come on hun, it’s 2012,” Dean grinned, clapping his brother on the shoulder with the hand that wasn't locked firmly under his son. Sam took a breath and fought the urge to kick him. The only thing stopping him was his three year old niece standing quietly in the way, and that Dean was holding the other twin.

The woman beamed. “Just fill that out and I’ll be right back.”

Dean looked over his brother’s shoulder to read the scrawl. “Shiloh Harvelle _Jovi?”_ He whispered, his tone conveying how thoroughly unimpressed he was.

“It was the only thing I could think of, so sue me,” Sam shot back defensively. “Besides, it sounds sort of… cute.”

“Change it.”

He probably would have, had Dean not embarrassed him in front of the woman. Now, it was about revenge. “No.”

“Sam, don’t make me make you.”

“Don’t cause a scene,” the younger warned, catching sight of the parents turning to look at them. “Besides, I wrote it in pen.”

“So? Cross it out!”

“If I cross it out, I’m putting down ‘Kroeger,” Sam warned. As he’d predicted, this made his brother back off after a bit of a snarl. He smiled to himself a little, reveling in the small victory. He suspected Dean might have fought more if he didn’t have little Milo fast asleep against his shoulder. The kid could sleep through _anything._

By the time he got through all the paperwork, Sam was beginning to wish they _had_ come as feds.

Dean paced the floor anxiously as he waited for Sam to finish. Something about this place made him feel nauseous, and it wasn’t just the freak accidents that had been killing some of the pageant parents. No, it was the heavy smell of hairspray, the outfits made of pure sequins, the little girls leading their parents around as though _they_ were in charge – he swore, if Shiloh ever talked to _him_ like _that… -_ it was enough to make anyone in their right mind sick.

“You’re smart to sleep through this, Miles,” he murmured to his son whose drool was beginning to soak through Dean’s shirt. “Little kids shouldn’t look so… fake!”

He was relatively certain he’d never been happier to leave for a motel room.

 

~~~

 

“My guess is we’re dealing with a spirit,” Sam passed a newspaper clipping to his brother and made sure to keep his voice down. “It’s only parents who have been killed, and in what appear to be accidents.”

Dean’s eyes scanned the article. “Impaled on the crowns? Yikes.” He looked up at his brother.  “Pissed off kid?”

“That’s what I’m thinking, yeah,” he leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. “Problem is, it’s not happening at one location. It’s always at a ‘Sugar and Spice’ pageant.”

The elder mused over this and nodded. “An object then. I doubt a pageant’s hauling around the body of a kid killed during it.”

Before Sam could answer, his cell went off and shattered the quiet. He gave Dean a hesitant look before he answered it. “Hey, Bobby.”

“Where are you two?” The gruff voice demanded loud enough that the other could hear it. Dean smirked and brought the bottle in his hand to his lips.

They'd been expecting this, but Sam had been dreading it. “We’re, uh, working the case, the pageant...”

“Great, so where are the brats?” Sam didn’t answer; there was no point. He glanced over at the couch where his niece and nephew sat contentedly watching cartoons. The glow lit up the dim motel room; just when had it gotten so dark anyways? “Tell me you didn’t.” 

“Didn’t what?”

“You morons!” With a wince, he pulled the phone away from his ear.

Dean took the opportunity to grab the phone away. “Relax Bobby, they’re fine.” He held the phone up to the air. “Shiles, Miles, tell your Grandpappy that you’re fine.”

“We fine!” Milo bellowed back, while his sister added a “fine,” in a softer voice.

Dean grinned and put the phone back to his ear. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.”

“Didn’t you two knuckleheads learn _anything_ growing up? You don’t take _kids_ out on hunting trips!”

“Bobby, they’re _fine._ We’re not gonna let anything happen to them. _I’m_ not gonna let anything happen to them,” he added gravely. “Besides, this thing’s been attacking parents. If anything, you should be worried about _our_ asses.”

“You better not be using either of them as bait or so help me…”

“Bobby, I would put Sam in a frilly little dress and use _him_ as bait before I used them,” Dean assured the man on the other line while shrugging at his brother. “Sorry Sammy, they’re my kids.”

“This ain’t over,” Bobby promised. “Just be careful.”

“We will be.”

“Idgits.”

Dean smiled and hung up the phone.

“Frilly dress?” Sam asked, reaching to take his cell back.

“Extra pink, just for you,” his brother replied, tipping the bottle back to his mouth.

“We have another problem besides the ghost, you know,” Sam stated, nodding towards the couch. “How’re you going to get Shiloh up on stage? She’s the shyest kid I’ve ever met.”

The father looked over to his daughter who was sucking her thumb and curled up against her brother, half asleep. “I’ll think of something.”

“Maybe we should have entered Milo in something instead,” Sam muttered, flipping through the information they’d been given. The dark haired boy was significantly more outgoing. He probably would have enjoyed the spotlight.

“There’s no way we’re putting my boy in a dress,” Dean answered sharply.

“I didn’t mean like …. Oh, so you’d put _me_ in a dress, but not him?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean nodded and grinned like a child. “It’d be hilarious if it was you.”

“Right, so plan for tomorrow – I’ll get her ready and then you can take them to the competition, and I’ll snoop around backstage.”

“Sounds good,” Dean agreed, getting up from his chair. “Okay you little monsters, bedtime!”

“Nooo!”

Sam grinned and opened his laptop as he listened to the protests. Time for research.

He never thought he’d see the day where part of his research would include makeup tutorials on youtube.

 

~~~

 

“Sam! Sammy!” Sam jerked awake to the hurried shaking of his shoulder. His brother was whispering, but the panic was still evident in his voice. “Come on man, wake up!”

“What? What’s wrong?” The younger groaned, trying to pull himself to a state of better alertness. According to the alarm clock on the table beside him, he’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. The time flashed as 8:00AM, and he didn’t remember even shutting his computer down until at least 4:00AM. Had there really been a time where he’d been able to operate on this much sleep or less?

Once he’d managed to sit up, a cup of coffee was thrust into his hands. “I’ve been doing some research.”

Words he never thought he’d hear his brother say. “I have been too, but I’ve had no luck. If it is a spirit, I don’t think the death made the papers. Please tell me you have something.”

Dean’s green eyes stared back at him blankly for a moment before they rushed back to panic with a slight shake of his head. “That’s not important right now.”

“Not… not important?” Sam choked out, barely remembering to keep his voice down. It was only the snoring of one of the twins on the bed beside him that reminded his foggy mind.

On the trip to the pageant, Dean would tuck them both into one of the beds, and he had taken to crashing on the couch in the motel room. Sam would sometimes wake up to find one or both cuddled against their father. Once, he’d even woken up to Milo being asleep with him. It had been cute until he realized that his nephew was cutting off circulation to his arm.

Judging by the fact that Dean hadn’t changed clothing, how bloodshot his eyes were, and how erratic he sounded, he hadn’t slept at all.

“She doesn’t have a routine! I’ve been watching videos of these things, and the kids always have some kind of routine!”

Sam blinked and glared at his older brother. “So we’ll come up with something.”

“Dude, it starts in like eight hours. How are we gonna come up with something?”

“It’ll suck, but she’s cute, and you do remember that we’re not actually here for her to compete, right?” He set his coffee down on the night table and ruffled his hair. It was too early for this. “We’re here to stop the spirit, or whatever it is.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, but Shiles is still competing. We can’t send her out there unprepared. Do you know what some of these girls are like?”

“Yeah Dean, I’ve unfortunately seen the show.”

“These little girls are brutal!”

Sam rubbed his temples. “Look. Teach her something when you wake her up at ten if it bothers you so much. Just… just don’t forget we actually have a job to do, and we have until nine tomorrow night to finish it.”

“You teach her!”

“What? Why me? You’re the one freaking out!”

“Because this was _your_ stupid idea!”

He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to hear the end of it. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Be a pageant family, talk to other pageant families, figure out what was going on. A glitter drenched dress, registration fee and endless hours spent trying to figure out how the hell makeup and hair worked, it wasn’t quite as simple as he’d thought it would be.

“All right. We’ll come up with something together,” Sam decided it’d be better to compromise. “Until she’s awake, let’s focus on the case.”

Dean relented and sat down on the bed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand; his other clutched his own coffee. “Right, what did you manage to find?”

“Mostly just confirmed what we already knew. Death is always a parent, and it’s some kind of bizarre accident.”

“Like falling into the crowns or trophies.”

“Right. Some have been even weirder,” Sam explained. “Hairspray can explodes, curling iron catches fire, parent slips on a lipstick and falls into a mirror… One mother was even strangled by a hairpiece.”

The elder’s brow bunched in confusion. “How the hell could that even happen, let alone accidently?”

The younger shrugged. “But it did.”

Dean absorbed the information with a nod before looking suddenly worried once more. “ _You’re_ the one handling hair and makeup, right?”


End file.
